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Presented  in  memory  of 
Craven  L.  Betts 


SANTA  CRUZ 


OTHER  BOOKS  BY  DR.  EATON 

ACADIAN  LEGENDS  AND  LYRICS 

THE  HEART  OF  THE  CREEDS,  Historical 

Religion   in   the    Light    of    Modern 

Thought 
THE   CHURCH   OF   ENGLAND    IN    NOVA 

SCOTIA  AND  THE  TORY  CLERGY  OF 

THE  REVOLUTION 
TALES  OF  A  GARRISON  TOWN  (with    C. 

L.  Betts) 
ACADIAN  BALLADS  AND  DE  SOTO'S  LAST 

DREAM 

POEMS  IN  NOTABLE  ANTHOLOGIES 
RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  GEORGIA  LOYALIST, 

Edited  and  Introduced 
EDUCATIONAL    WORKS,     Compiled     and 

Edited 
FAMILY  HISTORICAL  MONOGRAPHS 


POEMS  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  YEAR 


POEMS 

OF  THE 

CHRISTIAN    YEAR 

BY 

ARTHUR  WENTWORTH 
EATON 


NEW   YORK 

THOMAS  WHITTAKER 
M    C    M    V 


Copyright,  1905 

By  ARTHUR  WZNTWORTH  HAMILTON  EATON 
All  Rights  Reserved 

Published  November,  1905 


PS 


TO 
MARY  LAWRENCE  HAUGHTON 


CONTENTS 

ADVENT  PAGE 

WHEN  SAINTS  OF  OLD 15 

CHRISTMAS 

THERE  CAME  A  KING 21 

EDER'S  WATCH  TOWER 23 

THE  ANGELS'  SONG 25 

0  HAPPY  CHRISTMAS  DAYS  OF  OLD  ...  27 

1  KNOW  A  VAST  CATHEDRAL 29 

THEY   TELL   Us   ONLY   RUSTIC   SHEP- 
HERDS HEARD 31 

CHRISTMAS  PROPHECY 32 

EPIPHANY 

WISE  MEN  FROM  THE  ORIENT  CAME 35 

SEPTUAGESIMA,  SEXAGESIMA,  QUIN- 

QUAGESIMA 
PREPARATION 39 

9 


CONTENTS 

LENT  PAGE 

THE  LENTEN-TIDE 43 

LENTEN  HOPE 45 

THE  INNER  COURT 47 

EASTER 

WHITE  FESTIVAL  OF  EASTER 51 

O  EASTER  QUEEN.  .    54 

EASTER  FLOWERS 56 

ALL    THE    SULLEN    SORROW    OF    THE 

NATIONS 58 

EASTER-TIDE 60 

AT  LAST  WITH  SOFT  MAGNOLIA  BLOOMS  62 

ASCENSION 

THE  CONQUERING  LIFE 67 

WHITSUN-TIDE 

O  SPIRIT  FROM  THE  ETERNAL  DEEP.  ...  71 

TRINITY 

GOD'S  MANIFOLDNESS 77 

MY  PUREST  LONGINGS  SPRING 81 

O  LOVE  DIVINE 83 

10 


CONTENTS 

TRINITY  (Continued)  PAGE 

SINAI  AND  THE  PLAIN 85 

RESIGNATION 88 

IMMORTALITY 89 

HE  UNDERSTANDS 90 

THY  PRIEST 92 

PRAY  FOR  THE  DEAD 94 

SOMETIME 96 


ii 


ADVENT 


WHEN  SAINTS  OF  OLD 

"I  T  7HEN  saints  of  old  sad  vigil  kept 
Beside  the  brooks  of  Babylon, 
And  swathed  in  sackcloth,  silent  wept 
Because  the  light  of  Heaven  was  gone, 
Some  prophet  old,  in  desert  dress, 
Would  raise  his  rugged  voice  and  cry: 
"Why  sit  ye  here  in  such  distress  ? 
Ye  ask  deliverance,  it  is  nigh, 
Ye  crave  a  monarch  who  shall  show 
Compassion  for  the  suffering  poor, 
That  sceptred  king  ye  soon  shall  know, 
His  chariot  wheels  are  at  the  door. 

One  starlit  night  a  little  child, 
The  King  so  long  expected,  came, 
To  still  the  sea  of  passion  wild, 
The  sins  that  darken  life  to  shame, 

15 


POEMS  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  YEAR 

Deep  in  the  conscience  of  the  race 
To  light  red  judgment  fires,  whose  gleam 
Should  penetrate  the  darkest  place 
Of  human  thought,  or  deed,  or  dream. 
His  throne  was  laid  in  law  and  love, 
The  crown  he  wore  was  righteousness, 
Of  the  symbolic  sacred  dove 
His  signet  had  the  sole  impress. 

Thus  came  he  once,  but  every  age 
Beholds  that  sovereign  come  again, 
The  war  with  wrong  afresh  to  wage, 
The  love  to  seek  of  sorrowing  men, 
And  while  we  sit  in  vigil  sad 
Beside  our  brooks  of  Babylon, 
And  mourn  because  the  world  is  mad, 
And  Truth's  majestic  empire  done, 
God's  prophets,  as  in  ages  old 
In  Judah  and  in  Galilee, 
Proclaim  that  lust  and  love  of  gold 
Shall  not  enthroned  forever  be, 

But  humbled  to  their  rightful  place 
Of  thralls  and  subject  powers,  shall  stand 
Subdued  and  meek  before  his  face 
Who  sits  at  last  in  sole  command; 

16 


WHEN  SAINTS  OF  OLD 

That  all  the  lies  men  love  shall  flee 

Like  ghosts  that  dread  the  approaching  sun, 

Whene'er  the  king  in  majesty 

Declares  the  reign  of  error  done; 

That  redder  judgment  fires  shall  glow, 
And  yet  sweet  love  increase  in  power, 
Till  Time's  mixed  trumpets  cease  to  blow 
And  earth  has  reached  its  final  hour. 


CHRISTMAS 


THERE  CAME  A  KING 

THERE  came  a  king  to  Bethlehem  town, 
Two  thousand  years  gone  by, 
Who  had  no  ermine  robe  or  crown 
To  mark  His  royalty, 

Who  found  no  throng  to  pave  His  road 

With  palms,  or  carpets  gay, 
Nor  palace  rich  for  His  abode, 

Nor  courtiers  to  obey; 

Yet  empire  vast  awaited  Him 
On  mountain,  moor,  and  main; 

Even  Europe's  tangled  forests  dim 
Held  subjects  for  His  reign, 

And  soon  confusion  ceased  to  hold 

Uninterrupted  power, 
And  some  of  earth's  oppressions  old 

Began  to  cringe  and  cower. 

21 


POEMS  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  YEAR 

There  came  a  King  to  Bethlehem  town, 
Two  thousand  years  gone  by, 

And  angels  from  the  heavens  spoke  down 
A  royal  prophecy, 

That  while  the  red  sun's  central  flame 
Should  warm  the  peopled  spheres, 

Though  every  other  kingly  name 
Lay  dead  among  dead  years, 

This  King  should  hold  His  state  above 

The  weakness  of  decay, 
Because  the  eternal  power  of  love 

Should  base  His  throne  alway. 

There  came  a  King  to  Bethlehem  town, 
Two  thousand  years  gone  by, 

And  still  He  reigns,  and  still  speaks  down 
The  angels'  prophecy, 

And  some  fair  century  yet  to  rise 
His  power  complete  shall  grow, 

And  all  earth's  sceptered  cruelties 
Before  His  throne  lie  low. 


22 


EDER'S  WATCH-TOWER 

T  LOVE  the  soft  incoming  tide 
•*•     That  breaks  in  showers  of  silver  spray, 
I  love  the  dawn  that  opens  wide 
The  floodgates  of  the  living  day, 

I  love  the  harvest  voice  that  speaks 

From  each  green  blade  of  growing  corn, 

I  love  the  first  faint  beam  that  breaks 
Across  the  heart  in  sorrow's  morn, 

But  fairer  than  the  silver  tide, 
And  brighter  than  the  morning's  flood 

The  light  on  Bethlehem's  meadows  wide 
Where  Eder's  ancient  watch-tower  stood. 

O  little  town  of  Bethlehem 

Where  Christ,  the  perfect  man,  was  born, 
What  healing  balm  thou  hast  for  them 

Whose  feet  are  tired  and  travel-worn, 

23 


POEMS  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  YEAR 

The  Angels1  song  thy  shepherds  heard 
Makes  music  still  among  the  years, 

Thou  driest  with  thy  magic  word 
The  piteous  fount  of  human  tears; 

O  fairer  than  the  silver  tide 

And  brighter  than  the  morning's  flood 
The  light  across  thy  meadows  wide, 

Where  Eder's  ancient  watch-tower  stood. 


THE  ANGELS'  SONG 

WHEN  ancient  faiths  the  Orient  held 
Were  crumbling  to  decay, 
And  blind  mythologies  of  eld 

In  mournful  ruin  lay, 
The  hungry-hearted  world  was  given 

Truth  unrevealed  too  long, 
And  from  the  glittering  gates  of  heaven 
Swept  forth  the  angels'  song. 

When  o'er  the  blossoming  fields  of  thought 

An  autumn  blight  has  come, 
When  every  oracle  we  sought 

In  happier  days  is  dumb, 
Sometimes  the  spaces  wide  are  riven 

With  strains  delayed  too  long, 
And  from  the  glittering  gates  of  heaven 

Comes  down  the  angels'  song. 

When  life  shrieks  discords  everywhere 
And  passion's  dreadful  cries 

25 


POEMS  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  YEAR 

Make  mad  disharmony  in  the  air 

And  rend  the  tranquil  skies, 
Sweet,  silvery  flute-notes  God  has  striven 

To  make  us  hear  too  long 
Steal  from  the  glittering  gates  of  heaven,- 

The  blessed  angels'  song. 

O  Christly  choristers  that  first 

Sang  down  to  Syrian  men 
Let  your  melodious  music  burst 

Upon  the  world  again, 
Come  to  our  spirits  helpless  driven 

On  turbulent  tides  too  long, 
Then  shall  we  see  the  gates  of  heaven 

And  hear  the  angels'  song. 


26 


O  HAPPY  CHRISTMAS  DAYS  OF  OLD 

HAPPY  Christmas  days  of  old, 

When  chimes  rang  out  across  the  snow 
That  lay  its  crust  on  wood  and  wold, 
On  hills  above,  on  fields  below. 

O  happy  Christmas  days  of  old, 
When  carols  clear  by  children  sung 

Awoke  the  starlit  evening  cold 

And  through  the  silent  hamlet  rung. 

O  happy  Christmas  days  of  old, 

When  holly  from  the  rafters  fell, 
And  bells  in  moss-grown  towers  tolled 

The  midnight  hymn  men  loved  so  well. 

O  happy  Christmas  days  of  old, 

When  every  castle  far  and  near 
Its  stern  portcullis  upward  rolled 

And  welcomed  all  who  came  with  cheer. 

27 


POEMS  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  YEAR 

O  happy  Christmas  days  of  old, 
When  poorest  beggars  ate  their  fill, 

When  for  the  time  the  meek  grew  bold, 
And  everywhere  was  right  good  will. 

O  happy  Christmas  days  of  old, 

When  yule  clogs  burned  and  flames  leaped  high, 
And  round  the  hearth  good  people  told 

Tales  of  the  Christ's  nativity. 

O  happy,  happy  night  of  old, 

When,  ere  the  world's  first  Christmas  morn, 
Kings  of  the  East  brought  gifts  of  gold 

To  lay  before  the  newly-born. 

O  happy  Christmas  days  of  old, 

O  night  that  gladdened  all  below, 
Let  your  sweet  spirit  us  enfold, 

Till  perfect  Christmas  joys  we  know! 


28 


I  KNOW  A  VAST  CATHEDRAL 

T  KNOW  a  vast  Cathedral, 

•*•     With  sculptured  walls  and  high, 

And  windows  dight  with  every  light 

That  decks  the  sunset  sky; 
And  towers  enwrapped  with  ivy, 

And  bells  forever  glad, 
That  peal  and  peal  a  future  weal 

To  man,  oppressed  and  sad. 

I  know  a  vast  Cathedral, 

Outside,  a  thing  of  grace, 
But  loveliness  none  can  express 

In  its  interior  space; 
It  is  the  Christ's  Religion, 

And  he  that  enters  there 
Finds  truth  long  sealed  at  last  revealed- 

Aye,  Heaven  itself  laid  bare. 

Its  central  tower  is  Christmas, 
And  thence  melodious  chimes 

29 


POEMS  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  YEAR 

Each  year  ring  out  the  death  of  doubt, 

The  strifes  of  ancient  times; 
Ring  in  with  exultation 

The  truth  men  fail  to  see, 
That  following  right  brings  truest  might, 

That  love  gives  liberty. 

Best  faith  of  all  the  ages, 

Great  temple,  ivy-grown, 
With  windows  dight  with  every  light 

That  decks  the  Eternal  Throne, 
Down  from  thy  central  tower, 

Let  Heaven's  sweet  chimes  to-day 
Ring  loud  and  fast,  till  men  at  last 

Keep  well  God's  Christmas  Day. 


THEY  TELL  US  ONLY  RUSTIC 
SHEPHERDS  HEARD 

"Such  music  (as  'tis  said) 
Before  was  never  made, 
But  when  of  old  the  sons  of  morning  sung." 
— MILTON. 

x  I  ^HEY  tell  us  only  rustic  shepherds  heard 
•^       The  song  of  angel  choirs,  in  Palestine, 
That  strange,  momentous  night  of  Jesus'  birth, 
The  song  that  welcomed  in  the  great  new-born — 
A  few  rude  men,  whose  brows  had  never  worn 
The  poorest  honors  people  prize  on  earth 
And  grasp  so  greedily  and  think  so  fine; 
To  them  alone  was  hymned  God's  gracious  Word. 

In  every  age  that  song  is  oftenest  heard 

By  natural  men,  who  shun  ambition's  strife, 

Who  would  be  happy  wandering  o'er  the  plain 

With  only  trees  and  flowers  and  birds  and  sheep; 

Who  work  for  daily  bread,  and  never  weep 

Save  with  real  sorrow  or  for  genuine  pain. 

To  such,  in  western  as  in  orient  life, 

God's  angels  love  to  hymn  His  gracious  Word. 

31 


CHRISTMAS  PROPHECY 

OILVERY-BEARDED,  bent,  and  gray, 
^     The  Old  Year  passeth  swift  away, 
Yet  the  ringers  he  keeps  in  his  belfry  tower 
Peal  no  dirge  for  his  waning  power. 

He  is  bidding  them  ring  so  joyously, 
Can  the  Year  of  his  end  forgetful  be  ? 
"Ah,  no,"  he  says,  "I  am  old  and  worn 
But  the  young  Christ-life  to-day  is  born; 

"I  have  led  the  world  to  its  Christmas-tide, 
I  have  opened  the  door  of  Heaven  wide, 
And  bells  of  the  ages  hung  on  high 
Are  chiming  out  God's  charity. 

"O  welcome,  then,  the  Bethlehem  Boy, 
Sing  at  his  cradle  songs  of  joy, 
Wreathe  for  his  altars  holly  red, 
For  the  shames  of  earth  at  last  are  dead." 


EPIPHANY 


WISE  MEN  FROM  THE  ORIENT  CAME 

TT7ISE  men  from  the  Orient  came 

To  the  manger  where  Christ  lay, 
Knelt  with  gladness,  not  with  shame, 
By  the  baby's  bed  of  hay. 

Ermine  robes  and  quilts  of  down 
Are  the  right  of  infant  kings, 
Only  one  poor  mantle  brown 
O'er  her  child  sweet  Mary  flings; 

Can  so  mean  a  cradle  hide 
What  these  Eastern  Magi  seek  ? 
Ah,  the  heart  forgets  its  pride 
When  the  intellect  is  meek; 

They  have  striven  in  many  lands 
To  supply  their  famished  souls, 
Crossed,  perhaps,  Arabia's  sands, 
Wandered  sadly  toward  the  poles, 

35 


POEMS  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  YEAR 

But  success  their  search  has  crowned 
Not  till,  tired  and  travel-worn, 
They  have  learned  that  Truth  is  found 
Oftenest  in  a  manger  born. 

So  we  wander  blind  and  poor, 
Hungry-hearted,  sick  with  sin, 
Till  at  last  some  humble  door 
Of  God's  mystery  shuts  us  in; 

Stables  then  like  castles  are, 
Lowly  men  like  princes  born, 
Glad  are  we  when  any  star 
Heralds  any  Christmas  morn. 


SEPTUAGESIMA,  SEXAGESIMA, 
OUINQUAGESIMA 


PREPARATION 

\T  T'HO  does  not  love  the  tranquil  mystery 

Of  twilight,  when  the  day  is  almost  spent; 
Who  welcomes  not  the  sacred  Sundays  three 
That  usher  in  the  sober  fast  of  Lent! 

One  calls  to  temperance  and  self-control 

And  bids  us  yield  whatever  clogs  or  maims, 

That  we  may  win  in  contests  of  the  soul 

As  strong  Greek  youths  won  in  the  Olympian  games; 

One  shows  Truth's  tender  seeds,  in  soft  embrace 
Of  fertile  soil  spring  up  to  leaf  and  flower; 
Or,  unbedewed  by  love,  unsunned  by  grace, 
Fail  in  unfriendly  earth  for  want  of  power. 

One  points  to  where,  securely  throned  on  high 
Above  moralities,  howe'er  divine, 
Sits  god-like  Love,  pure-minded  Charity, 
And  makes  us  gladly  worship  at  her  shrine; 

39 


POEMS  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  YEAR 

All  pave  the  way  pressed  long  by  Christian  feet 
From  natural  joy  to  that  delightful  shade 
Where  purple  penitential  flowers  grow  sweet, 
And  perfume  all  the  air,  and  never  fade. 

O  calm  pre-Lenten  days,  your  lessons  deep 
We  would  be  taught;  so  God  should  give  us  mirth 
For  mourning,  wake  our  souls  from  sluggish  sleep, 
And  help  us  walk  in  heaven  while  yet  on  earth. 


40 


LENT 


THE  LENTEN-TIDE 

WHAT  have  we  done  that  we  should  seek 
This  Lenten-tide  to  be  forgiven  ? 
Our  lips  have  never  dared  to  speak 
Reproach  or  calumny  of  Heaven! 
Yet  to  the  Lenten-tide  belongs 
Repentance  for  some  secret  wrongs. 

What  need  have  we  for  such  distress  ? 
Our  hands  have  never  robbed  the  poor, 
We  have  not  spurned  in  bitterness, 
The  trembling  feet  that  sought  our  door; 
And  yet  the  Lenten-tide  is  meant 
For  men  with  spirits  penitent. 

What  have  we  done  ?     Our  memories  tell 

Of  scorn,  impurity,  and  hate, 

Of  pride  we  have  not  sought  to  quell, 

43 


POEMS  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  YEAR 

Of  duty's  promptings  bidden  to  wait — 
Ah  Heaven!  that  we  should  have  such  pride 
To  sorrow  for  at  Lenten-tide. 

What  have  we  done  ?     Our  narrow  thought 

Has  limited  the  Love  divine, 

And  all  the  flood  of  truth  has  sought 

In  human  channels  to  confine; 

The  Truth  of  God,  so  free  and  wide, 

Condemns  us  at  the  Lenten-tide. 

The  web  of  life  is  spun  apace, 
And  many  threads  are  gay  and  bright, 
But  some  to  give  the  pattern  grace 
Must  bear  the  impress  of  the  night, 
No  weaver's  hand  may  cast  aside 
The  dark  threads  of  the  Lenten-tide. 


44 


LENTEN  HOPE 

'HpHROUGH  all  the  world's  dark  Lenten  days 

•*•        Some  Easter  songs  keep  ringing, 
No  age  so  hopeless  but  its  ways 
Are  cheered  by  distant  singing, 

No  time  so  wintry  but  it  keeps 

Some  seeds  of  bloom  and  brightness; 

No  chaff  so  worthless  but  there  sleeps 
Some  good  grain  in  its  lightness, 

No  spirit  in  such  hopeless  gloom 

That  through  the  walls  of  feeling 
God's  sunlight  to  its  darkest  room 

Comes  not,  swift  moments,  stealing. 

These  shadowy,  purple  days  of  Lent, 

So  steeped  in  present  sorrow, 
Have  promise  full,  of  soul-content 

On  Easter's  glorious  morrow; 

45 


POEMS  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  YEAR 

Have  presage  that  mankind  shall  wake, 
When  earth's  day-dream  is  ended, 

In  lands  where  cloud  and  stream  and  lake 
In  perfect  grace  are  blended. 

They  keep  a  golden  silence  still, 

'Tis  true,  that  saints  or  sages 
Shall  never  penetrate  until 

The  sunset  of  the  ages, 

But  through  all  sombre  Lenten-tides 
Such  hopeful  strains  keep  ringing, 

Our  hearts  are  sure  that  somewhere  hides 
A  world  of  quenchless  singing. 


THE  INNER  COURT 

"/THVARRY  ye  here!"  the  Saviour  said 
•*•        And  to  the  deeper  shade  withdrew 

Of  that  dark  spot  near  Kedron's  bed 
Where  high,  o'er-arching  olives  grew. 

"Tarry  ye  here!"  nor  friend,  nor  foe 
Must  on  this  dreadful  hour  intrude, 

My  soul  must  face  its  bitterest  woe 
In  silence  and  in  solitude. 

"Tarry  ye  here!"  for  I  alone 

Must  enter  dark  Gethsemane, 
No  ear  but  God's  must  list  my  moan, 

Though  ye  without  may  watch  with  me," 

"Tarry  ye  here,"  each  sufferer  says, 
"Pain's  common  portals  open  wide, 

But  sorrow  has  mysterious  ways 
Where  even  from  you  my  soul  must  hide. 

47 


POEMS  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  YEAR 

"Wait  till  the  purple  shadows  spun 

About  my  griefs  Gethsemane 
Have  thinned  a  little  in  the  sun 

That  never  long  obscured  can  be; 

"  Stay  till  the  spirit,  dumb  with  pain, 

Has  spent  its  inarticulate  cry, 
And  faith  so  parched  has  drunk  the  rain 

Of  God's  compassion  from  the  sky." 

"Tarry  ye  here,"  the  Saviour  said, 
And  into  deeper  shade  withdrew, 

Then  to  the  soul  uncomforted 

Heaven's  chiefest  white-winged  angels  flew. 


EASTER 


WHITE  FESTIVAL  OF  EASTER 

TT7HITE  Festival  of  Easter, 

Triumphant  day  of  days, 
The  light  of  hope  enkindling 
Beside  our  lifeless  ways, 

'Tis  right  that  regal  lilies 
About  thy  form  should  fling 

The  richest  incense-odours 
Mixed  by  the  magic  spring; 

For  thou  hast  all  the  beauty 

Born  of  unsightly  clay, 
In  nature's  garden  lavished 

Since  Time  began  her  sway, 

And  thou  hast  all  the  glory, 
In  face  and  voice  and  mien, 

Of  every  moral  conquest 

Man's  struggling  life  has  seen, 


POEMS  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  YEAR 

And  thou  hast  all  the  promise 

Of  golden  years  to  come, 
When  earth's  imperfect  prattle 

And  clamorous  cry  are  dumb, 


When  Truth's  uncertain  glimmer 
Clear  light  has  come  to  be, 

And  strong,  sweet  tides  of  reason 
Have  swept  humanity. 

White  Festival  of  Easter, 

Thou  sham'st  the  earth-born  dream 
That  darkness  is  eternal 

And  pain  and  loss  supreme, 

A  better  faith  thou  bearest, 

Belief  from  heaven  that  springs, 

That  death  is  only  progress, 
And  life  the  goal  of  things. 

Thy  tale  of  resurrection 

Is  but  the  sacred  seal 
Affixed  to  nature's  promise 

Of  endless  future  weal, 

52 


WHITE  FESTIVAL  OF  EASTER 

And  we  who  oft  despairing, 
Long  Lenten  days  have  wept, 

With  songs  of  satisfaction 
This  lofty  faith  accept, 

And  bid  thy  strong,  pure  sceptre, 
Triumphant  Queen  of  days, 

White  Festival  of  Easter, 

Rule  all  our  wandering  ways. 


53 


O  EASTER  QUEEN 

O  EASTER,  queen  of  all  the  days 
That  wear  the  Church's  crown, 
Upon  our  troubled  human  ways 
Thy  calm,  fair  face  looks  down, 

Thou  cam'st  this  morning  thro'  the  fields 
And  spoke  some  magic  word, 

And  all  the  plain  that  harvest  yields 
With  pulsing  life  was  stirred; 

The  hyacinth  and  tulip  gay 

About  thy  pathway  pressed, 
But  golden-petaled  lilies  lay 

In  triumph  on  thy  breast; 

The  messenger  of  death  stooped  low 
To  kiss  thy  conquering  feet, 

Life,  trembling,  seemed  at  last  to  know 
Her  victory  complete. 

54 


O  EASTER  QUEEN 

Thou  earnest  to  the  sleeping  town 
To  where  the  mourner  lay, 

And  joy  rose  from  her  prison  brown 
And  rolled  the  stone  away. 

Thou  hast  the  healing  balm  to  mend 
The  spirit  hurt  with  fear, 

It  is  thy  gift  new  strength  to  lend 
To  us  who  languish  here. 

O  Easter,  queen  of  all  the  days 
That  wear  the  Church's  crown, 

Upon  our  troubled  human  ways 
Forevermore  look  down! 


55 


EASTER  FLOWERS 

'  I  VHEY  speak  deep  truths,  these  lilies  dumb, 

•*•       Whose  waxen  forms  our  altars  hide, 
Fresh  from  Bermudian  gardens  come 
To  help  us  keep  our  Easter-tide. 

They  rouse  our  slumbering  minds  to  think, 
These  timid,  trembling  crocus  blooms, 

In  blue  and  lavender  and  pink, 

From  Nature's  daintiest  colour-looms. 

The  regal  tulips  flaunting  fair 

In  gorgeous  robes  of  red  and  gold, 

Through  parks  and  gardens  everywhere, 
What  thoughts  their  broidered  bosoms  hold; 

We  read  their  minds  and  glimpses  get 

That  fill  us  with  mysterious  joy, 
Of  worlds  where  perfect  words  are  set 

To  melodies  that  never  cloy, 

56 


EASTER  FLOWERS 

Of  marsh-lands  welcoming  every  day 
Ecstatic  tides  that  surge  and  sweep 

From  that  divine,  unfathomed  bay, 
The  source  of  soul-perfection,  deep, 

Of  fields  beyond  the  doors  of  death, 
O'er-arched  by  skies  of  lovelier  blue 

And  rich  with  buds  of  sweeter  breath 
Than  Indian  islands  ever  knew. 

O  shadowy  lanes  through  which  we  pass, 
To  mellow  noon  or  purple  night, 

With  springing  step,  or  slow,  alas! 
The  days  too  quickly  taking  flight, 

Let  all  your  measuring  mile-stones  be 
Swathed  in  the  flowers  whose  petals  hide 

Thoughts  deep  as  God's  eternity, 
Truths  angels  tell  at  Easter-tide. 


57 


ALL  THE  SULLEN  SORROW  OF  THE 
NATIONS 

ALL  the  sullen  sorrow  of  the  nations, 
All  the  heavy  weight  of  earth's  decay, 
Cannot  crush  the  faith  that  newly  quickens 
In  the  spirit,  every  Easter  Day. 

Never  lay  the  pall  of  error  darklier 

On  men's  shackled  souls  than  now  it  lies, 

Through  the  vault  of  this  late  age  are  echoing 
All  the  old  despairing  plaints  and  cries. 

Knowledge  twists  and  spins  with  subtle  fingers 
Threads  of  gold  for  our  immortal  gain, 

In  the  complex  looms  of  human  progress 
We  still  weave  them  into  webs  of  pain. 

Yet  the  world  persistent  keeps  believing 
Pain  has  not  an  end  in  painless  clay, 

And  we  hear  its  hearty  creed-confessing 
In  the  hopeful  hymns  it  sings  to-day. 

58 


ALL  THE  SULLEN  SORROW 

Death  is  not,  but  only  resurrection, 
Graves  of  all  dead  joys  fly  open  wide, 

Quivering  souls  burst  free  from  final  fetters — 
This  man's  vision  at  the  Easter-tide. 

Cling  then,  brothers,  to  the  lofty  promise 

Of  a  life  superior  to  decay, 
Uttered  by  the  earth  in  Spring's  awakening, 

Voiced  by  the  glad  rites  of  Easter  Day; 

Go  in  peace,  God  mocks  not  man's  believing 

With  mirage  or  fleeting  phantasy, 
Faith  like  ours  is  knowledge  to  our  kindred 

In  those  worlds  where  fettered  minds  are  free. 


59 


EASTER-TIDE 

HAIL,  Ancient  Easter-tide  that  drew 
The  nations  to  thy  shrine, 
Thou  who  wert  born  when  man  first  knew 
The  thrall  of  Spring  divine; 

Thou  hast  the  fragrance  of  all  flowers 

That  fill  hope's  garden  wide, 
And  clusters  that  enrich  her  bowers, 

O  blessed  Easter-tide. 

The  mirrors  of  earth's  banquet  hall 

Reflect  thy  glittering  rays, 
Thou  art  the  fairest  pearl  in  all 

Her  diadem  of  days. 

The  pattern  of  the  time  is  cold, 
The  weavers  weave  in  gloom, 

Unseen,  thou  windest  threads  of  gold 
Into  the  busy  loom. 

60 


EASTER-TIDE 

The  dark-robed  angel  as  he  flies 
The  shores  of  life  beside, 

Hearing  thy  god-like  message  cries 
"Victorious  Easter-tide!" 

O  Easter,  lift  thy  beacon  higher 

Above  us  as  we  grope, 
Thy  lantern  lighted  at  the  fire 

Of  the  world's  larger  hope; 

In  answering  love,  to  all  who  love 
The  Church's  hallowed  ways, 

Come  with  thy  message  from  above 
For  our  despondent  days. 


61 


AT  LAST  WITH  SOFT  MAGNOLIA  BLOOMS 

A   T  last  with  soft  magnolia  blooms 
"*•  ^     The  southern  woods  are  fair, 
And  jasmines  add  their  rich  perfumes 
To  the  delicious  air. 

At  last  the  less  luxuriant  north 

Wakes  from  its  torpid  spell, 
And  tender  living  things  creep  forth 

Into  the  sunshine's  swell. 

Dark  Lenten  shades  again  dissolve 

In  glorious  Easter  light, 
And  faith  awakes  with  high  resolve 

From   penitential  night. 

All  life  is  born,  in  these  low  spheres, 

From  other  life's  decay, 
Some  sombre  night  of  tears  or  fears 

Begets  each  golden  day, 

62 


AT  LAST  WITH  SOFT  MAGNOLIA  BLOOMS 

And  though  we  walk  with  eyes  too  blind 
To  what  such  things  declare, 

Conviction  deep  sways  every  mind 
That  in  some  world  more  fair, 

When  death  has  worked  its  icy  will 

Upon  the  summer's  cheer 
And  all  the  lust  of  life  lies  still 

Upon  its  iron  bier, 

Soft  Springs  and  Easter-tides  shall  break 

With  light  supremely  fair, 
And  every  sleeping  thing  awake 

In  the  delicious  air. 


ASCENSION 


THE  CONQUERING  LIFE 

f  I  VHE  gentle  slopes  of  Olivet  were  green, 

•*•        And  oleanders  censed  the  passers  by, 

And  fronded  palms  lent  grandeur  to  the  scene 

As  the  victorious  Lord  went  up  on  high. 

On  rugged  mountain  tops  where  rocks  were  strown, 
And  o'er  rough  roads,  his  feet  had  often  strayed, 

Last,  in  Gethsemane's  deep  shades,  alone, 

The   stricken,  sorrowing  Christ  had   knelt   and 
prayed; 

Now  death  itself  was  past,  and  he,  a  king, 

Midst  angel  guards  assumed  his  primal  power; 

O  sleeping  sons  of  men,  awake  and  sing, 
This  is  not  his  but  your  triumphal  hour! 

He  broke  from  Joseph's  tomb  that  ye  might  break 
From  all  the  graves  that  bar  your  souls  from  day, 

He  drank  anew  life's  cup  that  ye  might  take 
Unstinted  draughts  of  Heaven  along  the  way; 

6? 


POEMS  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  YEAR 

He  rose  to  higher  worlds  that  ye  might  rise 

From  earth-born  doubts  and  tombs  of  low  desire, 

'Twas  your  redemption  song  that  rilled  the  skies 
When  he  was  met  by  all  the  angel  choir. 

O  Risen  Christ,  we  never  trod  with  thee 
Judean  fields,  where  scarlet  lilies  flower, 

Nor  with  the  silent  group  near  Bethany 

Stood  wondering,  at  thy  great  ascension  hour, 

Yet  in  thy  conquering  life  we  have  a  share, 
Thy  pity  and  thy  peace  to  us  belong; 

The  crowns  thou  wearest  we  thy  followers  wear, 
The  sceptred  strength   thou  wieldest   makes  us 
strong. 


68 


WHITSUN-TIDE 


O   SPIRIT   FROM   THE   ETERNAL  DEEP 

SPIRIT  from  the  Eternal  Deep, 

Who  earnest  once  with  wind  and  fire 
To  wake  the  world  from  sensual  sleep, 
And  rouse  the  Church  to  strong  desire, 

Thy  subtle  influence  sways  the  race 
To  virile  thought  and  virtuous  deed, 

Thou  hast  no  narrow  resting-place 
In  commonwealth,  or  church,  or  creed; 

Through  many  a  crowd  since  Pentecost 
Thy  influence  unperceived  has  crept, 

On  souls  the  church  accounted  lost 
Thy  clear,  ecstatic  flame  has  leapt. 

Thou  art  the  rich,  luxuriant  mould 
Wherein  our  best  deeds  germinate, 

Thine  was  the  power  of  sculptors  old 
Their  shapeliest  statues  to  create, 

71 


POEMS  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  YEAR 

By  thee  the  vast  cathedrals  rose, 
And  heavenly  music  came  to  birth, 

Thy  rich  perfection  overflows 
In  all  the  beauty  of  the  earth. 


Thy  voice  is  heard  in  every  sigh 
Of  the  soft-swaying  forest  trees, 

Thine  is  the  unjarring  melody 

That  greets  us  in  the  summer  breeze, 

We  hear  thy  heart-beats  in  the  shade 
And  silence  of  the  forest  dim, 

Thou  art  in  all  the  flowers  that  braid 
With  blue  and  gold  the  river's  brim; 

The  firmament  thy  mind  reveals, 

The  unchanging  orbs,  the  spaces  wide, 

The  splendid  crimson  fire  that  steals 
Into  the  west  at  eventide. 


'Tis  thou  that  from  the  eternal  deep, 
With  noiseless  call,  with  wind  and  fire, 

When  we  are  sunk  in  sensual  sleep 
Awakenest  us  to  strong  desire, 

72 


O  SPIRIT  OF  THE  ETERNAL  DEEP 

And  on  the  hearth  where  once  of  old 

Love  burned,  then  flickered,  then  was  lost, 

Reviv'st  amidst  the  ashes  cold 
The  inspiring  flame  of  Pentecost. 


73 


TRINITY 


GOD'S  MANIFOLDNESS     V 

DOCTRINE  deep,  of  the  ages,  O  creed  of 

the  inmost  soul, 
Confessed   wherever   man   craves   for   light,  from 

Tropic  sun  to  pole, 
Thou  wert  not  wrought  in  the  workshop  of  cold 

scholastic  brain, 

Nor  brought  to  birth  like  lesser  creeds  in  intellec- 
tual pain, 
Thou  wert   born  when   the  wings   of  the   Spirit 

brooded  the  soundless  sea 
And    quickened   the    atoms    primal   to   wondrous 

potency, 
Thou  wert  forged  when  the  worlds  chaotic,  inclosed 

in  the  fiery  sun, 
Were  thrown  from  the  central  system  and  order 

was  begun, 
Thou  wert  shaped  when  God  in   his   power  said 

light  at  last  should  be; 

77 


POEMS  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  YEAR 

Then  shed  thy  light  on  our  darkness,  O  Truth  of 
Trinity. 


We  peer  through  the  cruel  spaces  with  orphaned 

worlds  alive, 
We    look  at   the  sentient  kingdoms,  where   none 

but  the  strong  survive, 
And  the  faith  we  are  bidden  to  cherish  seems  only 

a  mocking  light. 
And  we  feel  like  timid  children  left  alone  in  the 

night, 
But  thou  art  a  voice  to  tell  us  a  father's  love  is 

shown 

In  every  act  creative  since  Chaos  was  o'erthrown, 
Thou  sayest  that  high  in  heaven  sits  not  a  love- 
less God, 
But   one  who   comes  with    yearning   to   kiss   the 

meanest  clod; 
Then  we  pray  that  our  hearts  forever  held  close  to 

his  heart  shall  be, 
And  cling  to  the  creed  that  saves  us,  the  Truth  of 

Trinity. 

We  are  tired  of  earth's  oppressions,  we  are  sick  of 
its  greed  of  gold, 

78 


GOD'S  MANIFOLDNESS 

The  wrongs  that  are  waged  in  the  darkness,  the 

crimes  that  the  days  unfold, 
We  look  for  the  signs  of  sonhood  in  the  race  divinely 

made, 
But  the  signs  grow  faint  and  fainter,  and  at  last  we 

feel  afraid 
That  man  is  an  engine  only,  set  like  a  watch  for  a 


A  deft  work  done  in  the  light  of  the  sun,  a  sculp- 

tured form  of  clay,  — 
Till  we  turn  to  the  First-begotten  and  find  that  he 

came  to  tell 
That  man,  who  is  God's  creation,  is  God's  own 

child  as  well; 
Then  we  pray  that  the  mind  of  the  Father  in  his 

sons  fulfilled  may  be, 
And  rest  with  hope  firm-founded  on  the  Truth  of 

Trinity. 


The  life  in  the  woods  in  spring-time,  when  the  sap 

runs  free  and  warm, 
The  might  of  the  oak,  or  cedar,  that  breasts  the 

winter  storm, 
The  joy  that  swells  and  burgeons  in  the  fertile 

breast  of  the  earth 

79 


POEMS  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  YEAR 

As  it  brings  the  crocus  and  tulip  and  blushing  rose 

to  birth, 
Are  all  from  the  same  full  fountain  where  the  faith 

of  man  is  fed, 
Where  feeble  souls  are  strengthened  and  sad  souls 

comforted, — 
'Tis  the  life  of  a  Personal  Power  that  moves  in 

all  that  is  seen, 
That  makes  the   blind   earth   blossom,  and  keeps 

man's  courage  green; 
O  God  of  the  worlds,  unmeasured  our  longing  is 

for  thee, 
To  loftier   heights    uplift    us   through   thine   own 

Trinity! 


80 


MY  PUREST  LONGINGS  SPRING 

purest  longings  spring 
From  the  divine, 
The  sweetest  songs  I  sing 
They  are  not  mine, 

I  chisel  the  rude  stone 

With  feverish  hand, 
The  statue  comes  alone 

At  God's  command. 

Beyond  earth's  tainted  air 

I  sometimes  fly 
On  wings  of  faith  and  prayer; 

Yet  'tis  not  I. 

Not  I  but  He  enlights 
My  flickering  creeds, 

81 


POEMS  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  YEAR 

Not  I  but  He  unites 
My  shattered  deeds; 

Not  I  but  God,  for  He, 

My  larger  life, 
Fulfils  Himself  in  me 

With  ceaseless  strife. 


82 


O  LOVE  DIVINE 

OLOVE  Divine,  that  circlest  all 
Our  little  seas  of  strife, 
So  might  I  feel  thy  tender  thrall 
Upon  my  wayward  life, 

The  restless  tides  of  ocean  creep 

Into  the  sheltered  bays, 
Thy  tides  through  all  my  being  sweep 

And  fill  its  water-ways. 

O  Love  Divine,  pure  sea  of  light 

About  a  sea  of  sin, 
Thy  blessed  radiance  to-night 

Folds  all  my  darkness  in, 

And  soothes  to  peace  the  unquiet  shore 
Where  angry  waves  have  lain, 

And  spreads  a  silver  mantle  o'er 
The  unsightly  rocks  of  pain, 

83 


POEMS  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  YEAR 

And  stills  the  moaning  of  the  storm 
I  thought  could  not  be  stayed, 

And  shames  the  doubt  whose  shadowy  form 
Kept  mocking  as  I  prayed. 

O  Love  Divine,  that  circlest  all 

Our  little  seas  of  strife, 
Forever  in  thy  rapturous  thrall 

Enfold  my  wayward  life! 


SINAI  AND  THE  PLAIN 

T  T  7 HEN  Moses  left  the  sacred  mount, 

Enraptured  with  the  voice  of  God, 
His  peace  was  like  a  living  fount 
That  bursts  from  the  incrusting  sod, 

The  dazzling  radiance  round  his  brow 
Bore  witness  to  the  Spirit's  fire, 

Nor  did  his  ecstasy  allow 

Of  worldly  thought  or  weak  desire. 

He  saw  the  tents  of  Israel 

Thick  on  the  plain  at  Sinai's  base, 

Like  white-winged,  nestling  doves,  that  dwell 
In  shelter  of  some  holy  place, 

And  as  the  winding  path  he  trod, 
From  barren  crag  to  verdant  slope, 

He  felt  himself  the  priest  of  God, 
The  inspired  minister  of  hope. 

85 


POEMS  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  YEAR 

Here  Heaven  tunes,  it  is  her  way, 
The  heart  to  holiest  harmonies 

And  then  lets  earth's  rude  fingers  play 
Discordant  strains  upon  the  keys, — 


A  glittering  idol  god,  upreared 
Against  Jehovah's  sovereign  law, 

A  god  by  sensual  Pharoahs  feared, 
With  angry  eyes  the  prophet  saw; 

He  dashed  the  hallowed  stones  away 

God's  hand  had  graven  on  Sinai's  height, 

And  while  their  fragments  round  him  lay 
He  passed  into  the  gloom  of  night. 

O  Spirit,  calm,  of  truth  and  power, 
Give  us  thy  courage  on  our  way, 

In  every  weak,  despondent  hour 
Visit  our  trembling  faith  and  say: 

"Not  thus  forever  shall  the  soul 

From  radiant  peaks  of  faith  be  hurled, 

Truth's  steady  tide  shall  sometime  roll 
Into  the  worship  of  the  world, 

86 


SINAI  AND  THE  PLAIN 

"And  men  shall  scorn  idolatries, 
And  reverent  wait  at  Sinai's  base 

Till  he  appears  whose  favoured  eyes 
Have  seen  Jehovah  face  to  face." 


RESIGNATION 

T  ASK  no  more  that  I  may  know 
-*•     The  way  God  has  for  me, 
I  only  care  that  He  shall  show 
My  duty  momently, 

At  first  I  sought  with  restless  mind 
To  know  the  entire  way, 

But  now  I  am  content  to  find 
My  path  from  day  to  day. 

I  am  not  idle,  for  it  seems 
That  much  on  me  depends, 

But  failing  all  my  fondest  dreams 
I  take  what  Heaven  sends; 

Not  always  gladly,  but  resigned, 
I  wait  the  Father's  will, 

Believing  that  though  I  am  blind 
He  walks  beside  me  still. 


IMMORTALITY 

THERE  are  strange  moments  when  the  human 
dies 

In  us,  and  the  divine  our  spirits  bear 
Rises  supreme,  and  awful  silence  lies 
Upon  our  seas,  and  lightest  thought  is  prayer. 

We  question  immortality  on  lower  planes 
And  grope  for  arguments  to  end  the  strife; 
We  are  immortal  when  the  spirit  reigns 
And  then  are  conscious  of  undying  life. 

Of  immortality,  till  thou  canst  call 

Thy  soul,  in  reverence,  such  names  as  God 

Is  wont  to  bear,  speak  not;  till  thou  canst  fall 

Before  thyself,  then  rising  from  the  sod 

Of  thine  own  humanness,  in  worlds  above 

Declare  with  him,  "I  am !"  and  "I  am  love  !  " 


HE  UNDERSTANDS 

WHEN  we  have  come  with  all  our  faults  and 
fears 

Into  the  presence  chamber  of  the  King 
I  do  not  think  we  shall  recount  the  years 
That  now  seem  scarred  so  deep  with  suffering; 

I  do  not  think  that  He  will  give  us  time 
To  scourge  our  souls  because  we  were  so  vile, 
But  only  look  at  us  and  make  us  climb 
Into  high  heaven  upon  his  loving  smile. 

When  all  life's  passion  clouds  have  burned  away 
And  we  have  looked  at  last  upon  the  Sun 
I  think  we  shall  not  bow  our  heads  and  stay 
Mourning  the  victories  we  might  have  won, 

But  be  caught  up  so  quick  above  our  fears 
That  we  shall  lose  the  words  we  meant  to  say 
About  our  fierce  temptations,  and  the  tears 
Of  weak  regret  we  shed  along  our  way, 

90 


HE  UNDERSTANDS 

And  rest  like  little  children  at  the  side 

Of  Him  who  leads  us  up  to  those  high  lands, 

Lost  in  his  life,  forever  satisfied, 

Since  He  misjudges  not,  but  understands. 


THY  PRIEST 

T  T  7HEN  at  early  morn  I  stand 

Humble  at  the  Altar  Feast, 
Breaking  bread  at  thy  command, 
Then  I  know  I  am  thy  Priest. 

When  thou  showest  I  have  turned 
Some  blind  spirit  towards  the  east 

Who  for  sunlight  long  has  yearned, 
Then  I  know  I  am  thy  Priest. 

When  thou  let'st  me  soothe  a  pain 
Others,  probing,  have  increased, 

Then  'tis  clear  that  not  in  vain 
I  have  been  ordained  thy  Priest. 

Make  me  anxious,  Lord,  to  be 

Helpful  to  the  very  least 
Child  of  weak  humanity, 

This  will  prove  I  am  thy  Priest. 

92 


THY  PRIEST 

To  some  altar  every  day 

Where  the  flame  of  hope  has  ceased 
Point,  O  Christ,  my  feet  the  way, 

Gladly  there  will  go  thy  Priest. 


93 


PRAY  FOR  THE  DEAD 

RAY  for  the  dead,  who  bids  thee  not, 

Is  human  kinship,  then,  so  frail 
That  those  we  love  can  be  forgot 

When  they  have  passed  within  the  veil  ? 

Has  God  released  the  old,  sweet  ties 
He  took  such  loving  pains  to  weld, 

And  said:  "Henceforth  their  memories 
In  prayerless  silence  must  be  held  ? " 

Have  they  no  triumphs  yet  to  win, 
No  toilsome  heights  of  truth  to  climb, 

Does  no  strange  syllable  of  sin 

Mar  the  soft  cadence  of  their  rhyme  ? 

Pray  for  the  dead,  the  links  that  bound 
Thy  soul  to  theirs  were  forged  on  high, 

Borne  upward  they  have  surely  found 
The  chain  firm  fastened  in  the  sky; 

94 


PRAY  FOR  THE  DEAD 

And  they  have  found  that  there  as  here 

Thou  gavest  them  strength  the  roads  to  run 

That  end  in  gateways  opening  clear 
On  friendlier  fields  beyond  the  sun, 

And  they  have  watched  thy  winding  ways 
And  helped  thee  many  a  load  to  bear, 

And  in  thy  dark,  despondent  days 

Have  stretched  for  thee  strong  hands  of  prayer. 

Pray  for  the  dead  nor  cease  thy  prayer, 

Though  holier  they  not  yet  are  free 
To  climb  to  those  great  uplands  fair 

Where  only  perfect  souls  may  be. 


Pray  for  the  dead,  it  is  thy  right 
To  leap  in  faith  the  shadowy  bars 

That  shut  thee  still  to  orbs  of  night, 
And  keep  them  safe  in  golden  stars. 


95 


SOMETIME 

OOMETIME,  sometime, 

^     The  clouds  of  ignorance  shall  part  asunder, 

And  we  shall  see  the  fair,  blue  sky  of  truth 
Spangled  with  stars,  and  look  with  joy  and  wonder 

Up  to  the  happy  dream-lands  of  our  youth, 
And  thither  climb. 

Sometime,  sometime, 
The  passion  of  the  heart  we  keep  dissembling 

Shall  free  herself,  and  rise  on  silver  wing, 
And  all  ungathered  chords  of  music,  trembling 
Deep  in  the  soul,  our  lips  shall  learn  to  sing, 
A  strain  sublime. 

Sometime,  sometime, 
Love's  broken  links  shall  all  be  reunited, 

But  not  upon  the  ashy  forge  of  pain; 
The  full-blown  roses  dead,  the  sweet  buds  blighted 
Shall  bloom  beside  life's  garden  walks  again, 
In  fairer  clime. 


SOMETIME 

Sometime,  sometime, 
The  prophet's  unsealed  lips  shall  straight  deliver 

The  message  of  eternal  life  uncursed; 
Wind-swept,   the  poet's  heaven-tuned   soul   shall 

quiver, 

And  from  his  trembling  lyre  at  length  shall  burst 
Immortal  rhyme. 


97 


THE  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  SANTA  CRUZ 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  DATE  stamped  below. 


100m-8,'65(F6282s8)2373 


Tnocn  AT  NRLF 


3  2106  00210  23 


